


Cave in

by the_authors_exploits



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Buried Alive, Claustrophobia, Gen, How do you end things? Fuck if i know, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Indulgent, Tim is a good bro, hurt!jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-02-28 07:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13266537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: There are stars in his vision, floating most notably above the glowstick illuminating their new home; Jason's almost too tired to panic. Almost.





	Cave in

Jason wakes up; which is funny, because he doesn't remember falling asleep. But it’s dark out--ridiculously dark--and he blinks to clear his vision. There’s a small yellow light in front of him; he doesn’t remember his clock being yellow, but then he remembers he smashed it after one of his Joker nightmares. So then the light can’t be his clock, and he’s got heavy drapes over his windows so…

But this isn’t his apartment, is it? He’s definitely not on his mattress, because it’s too hard, and the air is thick and heavy and his leg hurts. Hurts real bad, he registers, and shuts his eyes with a groan. There’s the sound of shuffling and then a hand at his neck, checking his pulse.

“Hood? Jason, are you with me?” The hand shifts, gently cradling his skin, and Jason wets his lips.

“Red?” He cracks his eyes open; startled at how close Red Robin is, he jolts. Bad idea, his entire body responds, and there are needles under his skin that pull and tug; he groans again. “What’s going on?”

Hesitation; the hand goes away from his neck--where’s his helmet? Discarded somewhere probably--and there’s the sound of cracking; another yellow light springs up, softly lighting the space better, and Jason takes note of the jagged rocks, the dust floating about like little flies. Fireflies, he thinks, because the glow sticks are yellow and the dust catches the light at times; he smiles, and then Tim is shining a penlight in his eyes.

“Hey; you with me now? Jason, focus. What’s the last thing you remember?”

He thinks for a moment, swallows, and Tim is fumbling with his jacket for the water pack he carries; gotta stay hydrated on patrol. Alfred insisted. “Two-Face…”

“It was Penguin, but close enough.”

He hums, and then Tim is offering him the water; when he’s had a few sips he speaks again. “Explosions seem more his thing.” Jason glances around, slowly, barely moving for fear he’ll dislodge the needles and tear open his lungs. His ribs hurt, and his breathing quickens. “Cave in?”

“Yeah, the building partially collapsed; your leg’s busted real bad, and I think you have a concussion.” Tim drags his cape closer--it’s torn, and Jason’s fingers touch a trail of cloth wrapped about his right leg; Tim bundles the cape up and lifts his head to lay it on the ground. “Probably some other injuries too.”

“Ribs,” Jason croaks out; the dust looks like stars now, his eyes blurring, and he’s almost too tired to panic. Almost. “Shit.”

Tim’s mask is torn, some blood on his cheek, and he moves his arm tenderly; his eyes widen at the expletive and he surges forward, as if to fully capture Jason’s attention. “Shit,” he mimics. “Shit, Jason, you’re claustrophobic.”

“I think it’s taphophobia, baby bird.” He drags his arm over his eyes but it doesn’t help. “Shit…”

“I’ve got more glow sticks; want me to light them? Would that help?”

Jason shifts, and  _ fuck _ is that a bad idea; his body is on fire, his bones are misaligned, and his leg is partially numb from the tourniquet but there’s something exposed that definitely shouldn’t be and it  _ hurts _ . He groans, loud and aggravated. There’s three cracks in succession, and more yellow light; Tim is hovering over him now, eyes wide and concerned, and his hand flits against Jason’s side.

“Hey; hey, we’re going to get out of here.” Tim shifts his arm, ducking down to capture his lidded eyes; he doesn’t comment on the moisture there, instead breathing steady and beginning to catalogue his worry away. Jason’s hurt, and he’s already done what he can for that; but his emotional and mental health are always unsteady. This isn’t helping at all. “There’s fresh air coming in from the other side, so we can’t be too far down; and we are not going to run out of oxygen, ok? Jason, listen to me.”

“I am; I am.” He wets his lips again, and Tim goes for the water packet; bless Alfred. Jason’s gonna clean the Manor for years if he gets out of here. Give Alfred a break; maybe he’ll even take Damian off his hands for a while. Drop him at daycare and pick him up; ten year olds go to daycare, right? “The comms…?”

“You detonated your helmet, so that’s a no; and mine just gets static.”

Jason huffs a laugh; it’s halfcrazed and he swallows thickly. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Probably.”

“How reassuring.”

There’s movement; Tim is crawling around their space, checking the rubble for any weak points, ensuring they’re safe and searching for an exit point. “It’s probably your concussion, Jay; you’ll be ok. Are you dizzy at all?”

He thinks for a moment. “Not if I don’t move.”

Tim huffs. “Cute; tell me what hurts.”

“Uh,” he breathes shakily. “Ribs; my leg real bad… Uh, head and back.”

A hand slides under him, feeling deftly along his spine; he doesn’t know when Tim returned to his side. “Pretty sure it’s just bruising; you got hit by some rubble when the ceiling collapsed.”

He hisses as Tim hits the tender spots.

“There?” At Jason’s nod, Tim shifts around more; feeling his kidneys, his shoulder blades… “Nothing feels broken; best not to move you too much though. Just ‘cause it feels like bruising doesn’t mean there isn’t nerve damage or a cracked vertebrae.” A hand touches his hip; it’s intimate and makes Jason feel wildly uncomfortable.

He shifts, trying to push himself along the ground, but his right leg doesn’t quite work right and he cries out; something pulls at his skin and he lifts his head to get a good look. “Oh.” He blinks numbly and Tim presses a hand to his forehead, pushing his head down.

“Idiot!” His skin is starting to feel clammy, draining of whatever color it had, and Tim feels his own panic rising. “Great, now you’re in shock.” He fiddles with his belt; he’s got to have something in there to help. A sedative, a painkiller… But with Jason’s concussion, he’s apprehensive to drug him; plus, Jason’s never done well with needles…

“Hey, Tim?”

“What?” he doesn’t mean to snap.

“I don’t think my bone’s ’posed to be outside my body.”

Tim rolls his eyes; it hurts his head, but whatever. He’s stretched thin enough to not care. “I know.”

“Oh; ok… That’s good.” His voice has taken on a soft and dreamy sound to it, and Tim glances at him; he’s blinking at the glow sticks scattered around his body with a slightly vacant gaze. Maybe shock is better than his panic, but he swears if Jason goes catatonic Tim’ll probably lose his mind.

He leans forward, gripping a syringe out of view, and brushes some sweat soaked hair from Jason’s face. “Hey; I can give you painkillers if you want. It’ll take the edge off, but it’s going to be administered through a needle.”

Jason seems to think really hard about that and for a moment his eyes refocus and his breathing picks up pace. He mouths a curse before letting his eyes flutter shut; Tim waits. He doesn’t make an executive decision; there’s a tentative balance with Jason, a pull and tug of trust, and Tim waits. Finally, Jason jerks his head and Tim rolls up the sleeve of the leather jacket; he settles the cold arm in his lap, checks the syringe, and plunges the drugs into Jason’s vein.

“Hey,” he calls once more. “Hey, we’re done; ok?” He takes hold of Jason’s limp hand. “Squeeze my hand, Jay, come on.”

A pause before he does; his grip is painful, and Tim remembers this is his brother with layers upon layers of muscles. He squeezes back.

“That’s good, Jason, that’s real good.”

“What about you?”

Tim peers curiously at him. “What about me?”

“You’re hurt.” It’s a statement meant to be a question and Jason frown; he speaks again. “You’re hurt?”

“Just scrapes and bruises; you took the brunt of it all when you covered me. If you hadn’t, I think we’d both be busted up.” Or worse, but he doesn’t mention that; he sits there and holds Jason’s hand until his grip starts to go lax. The painkillers are working, not quite dragging him into sleep but allowing his muscles to relax and his mind to go fuzzy at the edges; Tim sets his hand down and crawls to the other side of their cave.

There’s a small breeze through some cracks here, and Tim thinks he might be able to dig them out if he’s careful; he doesn’t want to dislodge anymore rubble, and he has to balance his time between keeping an eye on Jason and getting them out of here. He’s pretty sure his comm is busted, though he doesn’t know how it happened, because they aren’t far enough down to have the signal interrupted; so unless Penguin had a disruptor hidden nearby, the comm is broken.

Which means it’s just Red Robin and a useless Red Hood; which means it’s just Red Robin.

Tim takes a deep breath and coughs against his arm at the dust in his lungs; he tugs at a piece of concrete, listens closely for any sound of shifting, and tugs again. It’s slow work, and Jason occasional mumbles his name as if making sure he’s still there.

“Here,” Tim responds; he glances over. Jason’s entire body is silhouetted by glow sticks, and Tim realizes he’s been working in darkness this whole time. Jason’s eyes search the shadows beyond his light, and Tim creeps back over. “I’m getting us out of here, Jay, ok?” He fumbles for more glow sticks from his utility belt and blanches at what he finds. “I...I need some light though, so I’m going to take a few of these glow sticks.” Some have started losing their luster as time went on, and Jason frowns.

“You can’t have my light.”

“Jason, I need to see.”

“Use your other glowy sticks; you carry a ton.”

There’s a lengthy pause as Tim weighs his options; finally, he answers “All that’s left is green.”

Jason jerks, blinks, swallows; he blinks again and drags the glow sticks around his body. “Oh.”

Yeah; oh. Tim’s asking him to choose between his traumas, and Tim hates it; he feels dirty and disgusted with himself.  _ Which can you better handle, bro: working through your fear of being buried alive or remembering the Pit? Choose wisely! _

Finally, Jason shifts his shoulder in what’s meant to be a shrug. “I’d rather you leave me these.”

With a nod, Tim scurries away; he cracks the glow sticks, settles two around him and grips one in his mouth to help him see. He tries to shield as much light from Jason as possible, and continues digging through the rubble.

The green glow mixes with the soft yellow in a sickly hue, and Jason swallows bile; his panic seems far away, like he’s watching it happen from somewhere else, probably because of the drugs Tim gave him. A feeling of dissociation from himself, and suddenly the starry dust doesn’t look so mesmerizing; it swims and dips and Jason becomes acutely aware of how crummy he feels. Dirt and sweat and blood… He closes his eyes against the dark and breathes steady.

A while later, Tim’s voice drifts over. “Talk, Jay; you have to stay awake, so talk to me.”

“I’d rather not.”

He’s got a small tunnel going, lucky enough to not have everything collapse around them, and Tim feels the cool outside air on his face. “Where’d you park your bike?”

“Twelveth and Cistern; why?”

“How many miles does it have on it?”

Jason squints. “What?”

“Miles, Jay, try and remember.”

“I dunno…” He slurs, swallows. “Like...98,000…”

“Good; miles to the gallon.”

Jason coughs, sees bright white for a moment, and then Tim is hovering above him; the water pack is in his hand again and he gives Jason time to catch his breath between sips.

“Miles to the gallon, Jay,” he repeats quietly.

“Why?”

“I’m buying your bike; sell it to me.”

“You ain’t buyin’ my bike; s’not for sale…”

Tim leaves his vision; Jason is sluggish to turn his gaze to follow him. The green glow is on that side, engulfing Tim, and for a moment Jason wants to surge forward and drag him away from the demons; but it’s just glow sticks to light his work area, and Jason doesn’t quite go boneless but it’s close enough.

“It’s for sale right now, so sell it to me.”

They barter for what feels like hours; every so often Tim comes crawling over to check on him. The dust is still thick, the air still heavy, and they’ve run out of water a while ago. Jason’s resorted to mumbles, and Tim’s half disappeared in his tunnel. It’s just barely large enough for Tim to fit through, and the glow sticks are losing their luster.

“We’re not leavin’ my jacket behind.”

Tim snorts and wriggles out of his hole. “We’d have to leave behind more than just your jacket to drag you through there; but I’m almost through.” He rubs his hands together; one of his gloves had been ripped useless and his hand is all scratched and bloody. Jason’s own hand starts to burn and sting, and he clenches them shut. Tim offers him a smile. “Hey, we’re ok; there’s going to be a huge hole of fresh air any minute now, and then I’ll get us out of here.”

He closes his eyes and surprisingly Tim lets him; a quiet pause and the sound of Tim’s scraping picks up again. Sure enough, a good 15 minutes later and there’s the clatter of rubble and a burst of cool air fills their hovel; they’re not out yet, but Jason feels a layer of stress ebb away.

He hears a whoop of laughter far off from Tim and then his brother is wriggling his way back down, muffled voice calling out for him.

“Hood! Jay, I’m through; we’re through!” Tim plops into their hole and scuries over, elation on his face. “We’re through.”

Jason’s been drifting for a while now; blood loss and the painkillers, plus his concussion, have made him sluggish and soft. Everything swims; he lets it carry him, especially when Tim grips him under the arms and begins maneuvering him towards the opening. He’s not going to fit just yet, and letting the dark take him is easier than feeling the pain that the meds don’t block for another few hours.

Jason awakes again, and he remembers falling asleep--or is passing out a better term? Either way, he wakes on a soft bed under cool sheets and feeling loads better; he’s floaty and his leg is stiff but numb and he hums contentedly.

“Jay?” shifting, and someone’s running a finger against his arm. “Jay, you awake?”

He glares at Tim; the boy’s got one of his arms in a sling, though no cast, and a few bandages on his scrapes, but overall he looks perfectly fine. Well rested, healthy, and Jason glares. “You’re too fuckin’ chipper…”

Tim blinks. “What?”

He waves a hand vaguely about the room. “‘m on the heavy shit, and you’re all smiles and rosy cheeks.”

Rosy cheeks? Tim bites his lip. “Well that’d be because you went through surgery to fix your leg and have been in and out for a few days.”

Jason blinks; so they made it. “Never doubted ya, baby bird.”

He knows it’s a lie, but appreciates the sentiment; “Of course not. You gonna get some more sleep?”

He hums again and shifts the slightest bit; there are pillows on every side of him, drapes across the window to soften the afternoon sun, and Jason nods, lets his eyes fall shut. “Tell Alfie I’ll take the demon spawn to daycare for an entire month.”

“Damian doesn’t go to daycare.”

Jason squints. “He doesn’t?”

Tim’s smirking. “No, he’s eleven.”

“Huh.”

Shaking his head, Tim pats his wrist. “Go to sleep, Jay.”

He settles again, then jerks his eyes open. “My bike’s not for sale.”

Rolling his eyes, Tim stands and goes for the door. “God, I know! Go to sleep, Jason!”

“Damian really doesn’t go to daycare?”

Tim huffs, and shuts the door quietly behind him, hissing out a humored “good night, Jason.”


End file.
